I buy things
nobody wants.
Tankers, drillers, miners, coal, gas — the corners of the market that get declared dead every cycle, and then quietly make a fortune for whoever was still holding.
Once a month I write about what I actually did and why — the positions, the reasoning, and the things I got wrong. No alerts, no picks, no course.
Free. Roughly monthly. Unsubscribe whenever.
A trader writing in public, before there is anything to sell.
Ostrogon is not a fund and I'm not managing anyone's money. It's one account, my own, run on a strategy I've been refining for years — and a monthly letter about how it's going. From January the results get verified by a third party, so you'll be able to check whether any of this works rather than taking my word for it.
Unfashionable by design
I spend my time where capital has been starved for a decade and nobody is hiring analysts. Fewer people looking means more room to be right about something.
Assets you can count
A ship, a rig, an orebody. Things with a replacement cost and a supply curve that takes years to bend. When the price falls far below what it costs to build the thing again, time does most of the work.
Early is the real risk
Being wrong is survivable. Being right two years too soon is what actually hurts, and most of what I've learned the hard way is about that gap.
Where the reading gets done.
Focus, not restriction — I'll buy anything listed if the case is good enough. But this is where most of the hours go, and where I think I actually know something.
Empty, for now. That's rather the point.
From January I'm entering the US Investing Championship in the $1m+ division. Brokerage statements go to the organisers every month and they publish the standings — not me. Whatever ends up in this table will have been checked by someone who has no reason to flatter me. Including the bad months, which there will be.
What lands in your inbox.
Roughly monthly. What I bought and sold, what the thinking was, what moved against me, and whatever I've been reading about the sector. Written before I know how it turns out, which is the only way it's worth anything.
All letters →Come along from the first month.
The interesting part of a track record is the beginning, when nobody knows how it goes. That starts in January.
Free. Roughly monthly. Unsubscribe whenever.